


The First Cut

by enigmaticblue



Series: A Sentinel in need of a Guide [4]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:45:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim hated hospitals, but he'd go for Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Cut

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt "lacerations/knife wounds"

Jim heard the sound of breaking glass first, followed closely by Blair’s whispered, “Shit!”

 

“Blair?” he called, setting aside his study guide and quickly transferring himself from the couch to the chair. “You okay?”

 

“It’s just a cut,” Blair responded hurriedly. “No big deal.”

 

He wheeled himself into the kitchen and zeroed in on the blood dripping from Blair’s hand into the sink. “What broke?”

 

“The glass slipped in the sink,” Blair replied. “It’s fine. Hand me a towel?”

 

“Let me see,” Jim demanded, although even from this distance, he can see how deep the cut went, and knew it would probably need stitches.

 

Blair hesitated, and then he held his hand out. Blood welled up from the deep cut in Blair’s right palm, and Jim grabbed the closest towel, pressing it against the wound and wrapping it around his hand tightly. “It’s going to need stitches,” Jim said.

 

“Fuck.” Blair looked alarmed. “You can take care of it, can’t you?”

 

Jim shook his head. “I was a medic, Blair, but I can’t stitch somebody up. I mean, yeah, maybe, if we were in the field, and I didn’t have any other choice I’d do it, but we’re going to the ER.”

 

Blair sighed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll put my shoes on.”

 

“I’ll drive,” Jim said. “Let me get my keys.”

 

His palms were already sweaty at the thought of going back to the hospital. Going anywhere _near_ the hospital was enough to have his heart beating faster, and his stomach twisting into knots. He couldn’t let Blair see how freaked out he was, though, and Jim needed to stay calm so he could drive, and so he could get his roommate there in one piece.

 

Jim could do this for Blair.

 

Blair was a little pale by the time they get to the truck. “Don’t faint on me, Chief,” Jim ordered as he started it up. “No way can I haul you to the ER by myself, and I don’t think you want me to call the ambulance.”

 

“I don’t want to _pay_ for the ambulance,” Blair countered. “But I’ll be okay.”

 

“Sure you will,” Jim replied.

 

Jim was grateful that the nearest hospital was not the one where he’d spent so many months locked up, and he reminded himself that they weren’t here for him. “I can drop you off out front, or walk you in,” Jim offered.

 

“Drop me off,” Blair said. “Less chance of me passing out in the parking lot that way.”

 

“Good point.” Jim stopped in front of the automatic doors. “I’m right behind you, Chief.”

 

Jim parked, and just sat there in the darkness for a moment, his hands gripping the steering wheel, and he leaned his forehead against it.

 

“Pull yourself together, Ellison,” he muttered.

 

Blair needed him; he could do this.

 

~~~~~

 

Blair glanced up, seeing Jim enter the ER with relief. “Hey, man. I need a hand.”

 

Jim grimaced when he looked at the bloody towel around Blair’s hand and the sheaf of papers and clipboard. “Sorry, Blair. I forgot that it was your dominant hand.”

 

“No problem,” Blair said. He could tell that Jim was freaked out about something, and he doubted it was the cut on his hand. Jim had seen far worse injuries during his time in the Army, and then as a cop. A simple cut and a little blood wouldn’t normally faze him. “I can give you the answers if you wouldn’t mind writing.”

 

Jim grabbed the clipboard and pen and began filling out the form.

 

“I’m impressed you know my social security number,” Blair joked. “I barely remember it most of the time.”

 

“Why do you think I have it memorized?” Jim asked. “No allergies, right?”

 

Blair shook his head. “No.”

 

He watched as Jim filled out the form quickly and efficiently, asking Blair just a couple of clarifying questions. When he’d finished, Jim said, “I’ll give this to the nurse and see how long it’s going to be.”

 

Blair watched as Jim wheeled himself over to the desk. The nurse stood to take the forms, and even he could see the pity in her smile.

 

And if Blair could see it, then a Sentinel certainly could. If that was the reaction Jim usually got from women, Blair understood why he didn’t date.

 

Jim turned back to Blair, and Blair heard someone call Jim’s name. “Mr. Ellison?”

 

Jim froze, and all color drained from his face, and Blair rose quickly, crossing the waiting room as quickly as he could.

 

“Are you back for admission?” the man asked. Judging by his blue scrubs and lab coat, he was a doctor, probably a little older than Jim, with graying hair and a disdainful expression.

 

“He’s here for me,” Blair blurted out, stepping in front of Jim. “Blair Sandburg. I’d shake your hand, but—well.” He held up the bloody towel. “You can see for yourself.”

 

Jim seemed to regain a little of his equilibrium. “Blair, this is Dr. Caruthers. He was one of my treating physicians when I was first admitted.”

 

Blair could read between the lines, and he suddenly had a really clear picture of just how hard it had been for Jim to even enter the hospital again. “Nice to meet you,” Blair said.

 

“How have you been?” Caruthers asked. “You look good.”

 

“I’m okay,” Jim said stiffly.

 

“I had a lot of hopes for your recovery,” Caruthers said, his tone suggesting that Jim’s lack of progress in a personal failing on Jim’s part. “I really thought you might walk again.”

 

Blair barely resisted the urge to call the guy an asshole.

 

“Yeah, me too,” Jim said, his voice even, his expression stony.

 

Blair wanted to say something, to say that Jim was going to law school, and that he would own Caruthers’ ass one of these days, but he refrained, opting instead for misdirection. “Jim, I’m not feeling so good.”

 

Concern softened Jim’s expression. “You should sit. Nice to see you, doc.” Jim nudged Blair back toward the hard plastic chairs. “Sit down before you fall down.”

 

Blair sat, but he said, “I’m fine.”

 

“What?” Jim asked.

 

“I mean, my hand hurts, and I feel a little lightheaded,” Blair said. “I just figured you wanted out of that conversation.”

 

Jim rubbed his eyes. “That obvious?”

 

“Only to someone who knows you really well,” Blair assured him. “What’s the story there?”

 

Jim shrugged. “He was the admitting physician.”

 

Blair frowned. “As in the guy who put you in the pysch ward?”

 

“That’s the guy,” Jim agreed. “I had no idea he was a doctor here.”

 

“Jim, man…” Blair trailed off, having no idea how to offer comfort without overstepping his bounds. “You want to go somewhere else?”

“The paperwork is done, and we’re here,” Jim said. “They can’t hold me, and that’s the important thing.”

 

“Blair Sandburg!” a dark-haired, middle-aged nurse called.

 

“You want me to go with you?” Jim asked.

 

Blair was about to say that he could handle it when he realized that Jim might not want to be alone in the waiting room. “Yeah, that would be okay,” he said.

 

He followed the nurse back to the exam area, and she grimaced when she saw the cut. “The doctor will be with you shortly,” she promised.

 

When she was gone, Blair said, “You didn’t have to come, you know.”

 

“What? I was just supposed to let you off at the entrance?” Jim asked incredulously. “For fuck’s sake, Blair, you’re—”

 

The attending physician interrupts them by sticking his head through the curtain. “Is it okay if I come in?” she asked.

 

“Sure thing,” Blair replied, pasting on a bright grin. “Stitch me up, doc. It’s past my roommate’s bed time.”

 

Jim sent him a sour look, but the pretty blonde doctor smiled. “I’m Dr. Medvedev, and I’ll be taking care of you,” she said.

 

She chatted away while she gave Blair a local anesthetic and got the sutures ready, directing her comments towards Blair and Jim both. It turned out that she was a Jags fan, and they talked about the team’s chances for having a winning year, and she teased Jim about getting his hopes up.

 

Blair was relieved when Jim’s stony façade cracked, and he smiled faintly at one of her jabs, and then she clipped the suture thread and bandaged Blair’s hand. “You’ll want to keep these dry for a few days,” she said. “So, wrap your hand in plastic if you’re going to shower.”

 

Blair grimaced. “That’s going to make washing my hair a pain.”

 

Medvedev gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry, but those are the rules.”

 

“You could always get a haircut, Chief,” Jim suggested, his expression guileless.

 

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Blair replied, but he relaxed a bit at that show of Jim’s usual personality. “It’s just for a few days, anyway. No big deal.”

 

“I’ll get the paperwork, and once you sign you can be on your way,” Medvedev stated. “It was nice meeting both of you.”

 

When she was gone, Jim cleared his throat. “You know, I could probably give you a hand if you want.”

 

Blair frowned. “With what?”

 

“Your hair.” Jim was looking at the floor, not at Blair. “You know. If you need help.”

 

Blair swallowed hard, struck by the kindness and intimacy of the offer. “I—yeah. I might take you up on that.”

 

The nurse entered with Blair’s paperwork, and Blair awkwardly signed his name with his left hand. “Come back in seven days to have the stitches removed,” she said. “And be sure to fill your prescriptions before you leave.”

 

“Let’s get out of here, man,” Blair said with alacrity. “I hate hospitals.”

 

Jim nodded. “You and me both, Chief.”

 

~~~~~

 

Jim had been a little more rattled by the trip to the hospital—and even more so by his run-in with Caruthers—than he wanted to admit. He could have handled the ER, but Caruthers…

 

That man had been the reason Jim spent a couple of months in the psych ward, and seeing him again brought back a lot of memories he would have rather left buried.

 

Jim went to his physical therapy appointment with Louisa, and was glad to see some small improvement. He was never going to be what he was, and he would probably never walk unaided, but he was getting stronger.

 

“Looking good,” Louisa said on his last pass. “Or you would be if I thought you were getting any sleep.”

 

Jim shrugged. “Yeah, well. I’m trying.”

 

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked.

 

Jim ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “I ran into the doc who put me in the hospital. He said something about thinking I’d be further along.”

 

Louisa gave Jim a long, searching look. “That would knock anybody for a loop. Nightmares?”

 

“You could say that,” Jim replied.

 

“Your roommate know?” Louisa asked.

 

Jim shook his head. “Not about the nightmares. I ran into Caruthers when I had to take him in to get stitches in his hand.”

 

“Is he going to be okay?”

 

“He’ll be fine,” Jim said. “It’s more inconvenience than anything else.”

 

Louisa nodded. “Take care of him. He’s been good for you.”

 

Jim couldn’t argue with her. He knew having Blair around had helped to keep him on an even keel, and had given him hope, something he never thought he’d have again.

 

After he got home, Jim spent a couple of hours studying for the LSAT, and then started dinner. Blair had a long day of teaching, and the injury to his hand made it hard for him to do much in the kitchen.

 

The pot of chili was simmering on the stove when Blair came home, dropping his bag just inside the door. “I’ll get that later,” Blair promised. “I swear, Jim, if I have one more student beg for an extension due to ‘personal issues,’ when I _know_ it’s because they’ve been partying too much, I’m going to scream.”

 

“Just as long as you don’t commit a felony,” Jim replied. “Because I’m not going to be much help hiding a body.”

 

Blair grinned. “You’d do that for me?”

 

“For you, I’d do just about anything,” Jim said sincerely.

 

“Help me wash my hair tonight?” Blair asked hesitantly.

 

Jim nodded. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

 

Jim felt a strange sense of anticipation as they ate dinner, although he carefully avoided meeting Blair’s gaze, not wanting to let onto how much he was looking forward to it.

 

“So, uh, how do you want to do this?” Blair asked after they’d finished cleaning up.

 

“It’s probably easiest to do this in the tub,” Jim said. “Do you think you can lean over it?”

 

Blair nodded. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, I’ll just get undressed.”

 

They lived together, so it wasn’t like Jim had never seen Blair less than dressed, but it felt different now. Jim took off his denim shirt, grabbed a pitcher, and wheeled himself into the bathroom.

 

Blair was waiting for him, wearing only his blue boxers, and shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Thanks for doing this,” he said.

 

“I don’t mind,” Jim replied. “I think it will be work better if you’re kneeling.”

 

“Oh, right.” Blair climbed into the tub and knelt down on the tile, his head hanging over the tub. “Like this?”

 

“Yeah, that works,” Jim said hoarsely. He filled the pitcher with warm water from the tap and poured it over Blair’s head, repeating until he thought Blair’s hair was wet enough.

 

“The shampoo is on the shelf there,” Blair murmured.

 

Jim began working the shampoo through Blair’s curls, and they felt like rough silk against his hands. He massaged Blair’s scalp and only half-heard Blair’s groan of appreciation as he dropped into a half-zone. “Okay?” Jim asked.

 

“God, take your time,” Blair mumbled appreciatively.

 

Jim felt a bolt of desire go through him, the first he’d felt in a long time. He ignored that to focus on Blair, and he had to admit that it felt good to touch someone again. It had been so long since he’d had any kind of regular human contact.

 

He refilled the pitcher and began rinsing, making sure he got the last of the shampoo out. “Conditioner?” Jim asked quietly.

 

“Huh? Yeah,” Blair replied, sounding distracted. “You can leave it in, though.”

 

“I’ve got it,” Jim said. He worked the conditioner through Blair’s hair, and asked, “Okay?”

 

He tried not to notice the way Blair’s boxers were tented, not wanting to deal with his own desire, not wanting to try.

 

Jim didn’t want to risk their friendship, and he didn’t want to saddle Blair with any more responsibility than he’d already taken on.

 

“Yeah, okay.” Blair glanced up, his blue eyes wide. “Jim?”

 

Jim couldn’t resist touching Blair’s cheek. “It’s all going to be okay, Blair,” he said, although he didn’t know who he was promising, himself or Blair.

 

Blair smiled warmly. “I believe you.”

 

And for the first time in awhile, Jim believed that it would be. It was all going to be okay.


End file.
